


A Wing Thing

by whiterabbit1613



Series: The October 13 [9]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fiction, Flash Fiction & Vignettes, Gen, Humor, Literature, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiterabbit1613/pseuds/whiterabbit1613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Crowley and Aziraphale are characters from Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Wing Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are characters from Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

The October 13: Day 9  
Fandom: Good Omens  
Prompt: trick-or-treat  


 

     Aziraphale was, of course, the type to hand out peanuts or apples instead of any kind of candy. He sat poised at the door to the shop every year, hoping against hope that a respectable family with adorable, cherub-like children would happen to wander past, instead of the sort of folk who made up the majority of his neighbor's customers.

     Crowley sat on the counter, bored out of his mind and idly munching on an apple. "You never give up, do you, angel?"

     Aziraphale sniffed disapprovingly, then affixed a wooden smile and tossed a bag of cashews to the woman in stilettos and a bunny costume who had just tottered to the door. After she had gone, he said, "I have infinite reserves of patience."

     "Yes, I had noticed." Crowley gnawed the last bit of flesh from the apple core and tossed it at the trashcan. It would have missed, but he gave a little mental jerk, and the trashcan was somewhat surprised to find itself suddenly ten inches to the left.

     "Besides which," Aziraphale continued, "I like traditions. And this one isn't entirely divorced from the church."

     "There are some churches who would take extreme exception to that statement."

     Aziraphale waved a hand nonchalantly, wincing when he accidentally hit his wing. Halloween being pretty much the one time a year where he could plausibly be wearing a costume, he always let them out for the evening, being careful only not to stretch them when he had any kind of audience. 

     They sat in silence, for a moment.

     Crowley was, of course, the type who put the "trick" in "trick-or-treat". Last year he had balanced a can of orange paint very carefully on top of the door to the back room. Aziraphale had gone to get them another cup of hot cider and had returned looking more like a pumpkin than anything else. It was, of course, very funny. Aziraphale hadn't talked to him for about six months afterwards (paint was a bitch to get out of feathers) but it was worth it for the look on his face.

     This year, Crowley hadn't planned anything elaborate. He was trying a different tactic – namely, doing nothing and watching Aziraphale squirm any time Crowley did so much as move a finger, at every instant expecting the hammer to fall.

     Crowley leaned forward and ran a hand down the nearest available wing. The feathers ruffled as Aziraphale shivered, before turning violently and employing a sort of abortive karate-chop against his sometime-nemesis, which managed to hurt far more than it ought to have.

     "Ow!" yelled Crowley. "That was uncalled for!"

     " _You_ should know better than to touch my wings! You know what that inevitably leads to! Don't you ever learn?"

      "Yes, of course," replied Crowley, standing up with a leer. "But maybe not the things you'd like me to."


End file.
